


a creation both haunted & holy

by feeniecchi



Series: Bylad and the lads [4]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Canonical Character Death, Gen, M/M, Multi, Not Beta Read, Parent-Child Relationship, Self-Discovery, Spoilers, Trans Male Character, but its brief, ftm Byleth, mentions of periods, the dimileth is in the background but it is there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 11:54:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20209312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feeniecchi/pseuds/feeniecchi
Summary: His chest was flat in the dress shirt he had put on. Running a hand over the cloth-covered corset he felt something akin joy run through his heart.Jeralt announced his presence with a knock as he carried bags filled utensils into their room.He stopped in his tracks as he felt this strange sense of warmth and happiness that was filling the room.His eyes fell onto his now grown-up child, standing in front of the mirror and staring at the reflection in what seemed to be content.“Papa, can you.... call me Byleth?”________________________Or: All Jeralt wants for his child is to be happy.





	a creation both haunted & holy

**Author's Note:**

> _look inside my heart & find a perilous ravine_  
_carved within the beauty- the darkness in between_  
_standing in the balance of complete & incomplete_  
_i identify the echo of what is and what will be_  

> 
> _\- [half·alive - creature](https://youtu.be/nHNPT_QPQ_U)_

_???_

Carrying around a tiny baby certainly wasn't easy with a job like his.  
Being constantly on the run, trying to get away from the church as far away as possible while trying to earn a living as a mercenary was not an easy task.  
His daughter, such a little a fragile creature, was sitting in a make-shift baby carrier out of a cloth that he managed to grab before making his escape.  


Silent as ever.

  
She looked exactly like her mother. The same bright blue eyes and dark hair. Their child would most likely take after her in terms of looks.  
Personality-wise on the other hand, she seemed to be taking after him.  
Not once has she screamed or whined, laughed or gurgled. All she did was stare at him with her big eyes and occasionally pet his face in what seemed to be interest or pull on his braided hair.

  
Jeralt was sure that it was somehow Rhea's doing, that his daughter was like this.

  
But it didn't matter. With his wife dead, this tiny bundle was what last remained of her.  
He would do everything in his power to keep her safe and make sure she led a happy life.  
“You could smile from time to time, kid. Would ease this old man's heart little,” he murmured as he made sure the cloth wrapped around the bottom of his child wasn't soiled.

  
She simply blinked a few times as she stared at him and kicked her feet, nearly hitting his face.

  
Jeralt couldn't help but feel like she just made a statement and let out a tiny chuckle.

_3 years old_

Ever since Beth had started walking she's been quick on her feet.  
Jeralt had asked around during his trips from town to town, for tips and advice.  
Mothers, fathers and older siblings alike gave him a basic rundown on when a baby should start walking, talking and all the like.

  
Beth seemed to pick up on things very fast, always analyzing everything around her.

  
She had started walking earlier than most babies as Jeralt had gathered.  
But still, after two years she still didn't talk. Usually, a baby would've picked up on the word “Mama” or “Papa” by now but no matter how much he tried she refused to talk.

  
The other mercenaries that he traveled with tried their best as well.  
Trying to make her say “Uncle” or “Auntie” or furiously pointing at Jeralt while calling him “Papa”, which had led to a few confused and disgusted stares in public and an embarrassed Jeralt, but Beth just seemed to mind her own business.

  
Jeralt, of course, didn't mind. She's been a quiet child since her birth, so what if she didn't want to talk?  
Mute child or not, it didn't make a difference to him.

  
He loved her all the same.

_5 years old_

On her 5th birthday, Jeralt had been gifted with his child muttering “Papa” for the first time.  
The father had no idea that such a simple word was able to make him weep like a child but it did.  
Hearing his daughter speak for the first time had made him nearly more emotional than the day Beth's mother had agreed to marry him.

  
But his daughter wouldn't be his daughter if she were to just start talking regularly.

  
Aside from a few quiet “Papa”'s, the rest she communicated non-verbally with a tug on the sleeve of his shirt or pants and a point of the finger.  
Over the past few years, Jeralt had learned how to read his child well.  
While her stoic face seemed to me never changing to outsiders, he could easily understand what the tiniest twitch of an eyebrow of the corner of the lips meant.  
She did not need to talk. If she preferred to stay quiet and communicate non-verbally, Jeralt would understand.

  
Jeralt will always understand his child, he would make sure of it.

_7 years old_

It was when Beth turned seven when he heard the first remarks of her not looking “girly”.  
Both men and women alike seemed to remark it, some just pointing it out, others visibly upset for some reason.  
Jeralt never really thought much about it.  
He had dressed his child practically for traveling and teaching her the way of the sword.  
She never expressed a need for anything feminine...  
But then again she barely expressed the need for anything aside from food or sleep.

  
A female mercenary and her friends, they've been traveling with them for quite some time, had decided to whisk away his daughter for a short while and “make her cuter”.

  
Jeralt wasn't sure how to feel about it. The husband of said mercenary told him not to worry about it.  
His wife wasn't able to deliver children and had always wished for a daughter, so she was simply smitten with the idea of dressing up a girl.

  
Which didn't ease his worry at all.

  
But the worry that he was the reason why Beth never expressed any need for femininity was there so he let the woman take Beth out of his arms after he asked his child if it was okay.  
Beth had simply shrugged and didn't protest as she was pulled away but did look at her father with searching eyes.  
All Jeralt could do was give her a smile, hoping that it would ease her worry.  
Perhaps this would do his child something good.

  
Around 30 minutes later the female mercenary and her friends reemerged, presenting Beth with her short hair done in tiny pigtails in a dress.

  
While she seemed to be stoic as always on the outside, Jeralt felt the discomfort radiating from his child.  
“Isn't she does adorable?” one of the woman's friends cooed, hand on her cheek as her attention was still on his child.  
The men he was sitting with agreed, congratulating the women on turning her into such a fine doll and making her _finally feminine_.

  
Jeralt felt bile rising at the back of his throat.

  
Who were those people, judging his child based on her looks?  
She was perfect just the way she was no matter how she dressed or behaved herself.

  
And that was exactly what he told them. The father was never one to keep his mouth shut and the moment someone even dared to question and insult his daughter, he would make it crystal clear that he would bite their heads off if they dared to speak any further.  
Grabbing Beth before anyone could mutter another word, he carried her towards their room.  
The moment the door closed behind him he watched his daughter hurriedly undressing, throwing away the dress she had been forced to wear.

  
Tugging on her hair, she tried to get rid of the pigtails but didn't manage to get them out.  
She started to tug harder and harder, ripping out strands of hair as she pulled, causing Jeralt to step in and gentle pry her tiny hands away as he crouched down to her level.  
Shoulders slouched, she let her father finally free her hair and simply laid against his chest.  
“No more braids?” Jeralt asked softly as he wrapped his arms around his tiny child. He felt Beth nod against his chest.  
“No more dresses?” He felt her nod again as his hand was rubbing up and down her back.  
This was the first time he saw his kid being close to visibly upset and he felt his heart tighten inside his chest.

  
Fine with him. His child should wear what she wanted to and felt comfortable in, not what other deemed right for her.

  
He loved her all the same.

_10 years old_

Teaching someone writing and reading was not exactly Jeralt's strong suit.  
But it had to be done. If his child didn't like communicated verbally, perhaps she would with some pen and paper.  
Since Beth didn't talk and never expressed any kind of emotion even when talked to, outsiders were quick to feel negative about her.  
By teaching her how to write, she at least would be able to write down short answers when others were around.

  
Jeralt himself had no trouble reading his kid, of course.

  
Years of being and traveling together taught him what the tiniest twitch of the lip or eyebrow meant.  
But he couldn't always be around her to “translate” her actions and needs.  
Who knows what might happen in a few years? Months? Days even?  
The life of a mercenary wasn't a safe and easy one. And if he were to pass away in the near future he wouldn't want his child to be left without any ways of communication.

  
What he didn't expect was her to pick it up so quickly and eagerly.

  
It didn't take her long before she would read one book after another, upping up the difficulty with each new one.  
Jeralt was happy to see his child picking up a new interest. He had been worried that she wouldn't be able to engage in anything else but training and fighting but she seemed to be doing just fine.

  
Huh, looks like he wasn't such a bad teacher after all.

_12 years old _

Jeralt knew this day would come. His kid's first period.  
He had heard stories of other mothers, telling how their daughters would get excited the moment they noticed their period started for the first time.  
  
Beth on the other hand...

He only noticed what was going on with his daughter while he was busy washing their clothes.  
Which led to an awkward conversation of him sitting her down and explaining once again what this meant and how she could stay clean during her time of the month.  
But Beth didn't seem to care. Once her father was done explaining everything, he asked her if she had any more questions.  
His daughter just shook her head, looked away and started eyeing her training sword again.

  
Sighing, Jeralt told her to go ahead and practice outside if she wanted to.

  
In a blink of an eye, she vanished outside. Not seeming to care about... any of this.  
But then again, when did his child express any explicit interest in anything besides fighting and swords?  
Which was most likely his fault but still.

  
Well, he couldn't deny that she was his child, that was for sure.

_14 years old_

At this point, Jeralt had long stopped picking out clothes for his child to wear.  
Beth was old enough to decide what to mix and match, so he trusted her to make the right decision when they went to buy a few more clothing articles.  
He watched mothers fussing over their daughters, buying them cute dresses and skirts.  
His daughter's arms, on the other hand, were overflowing with bagging dress shirts and pants, a pair of sturdy boots placed on top of the pile, making it hard for his child to see what was in front of them.

  
“Is that all?” Jeralt asked as he took the clothes out of his child's arms. Beth nodded, stoic as ever.

  
He saw the way mothers looked at his child, head slightly raised, nose scrunched and eyes squinting.  
So what if his kid didn't dress feminine? Dresses and skirts were impractical in battle anyway and when given an opportunity Beth would always go for pants and a dress shirt.  
Jeralt never understood that whole fuss over clothes anyway.

  
Anyone should wear whatever they wanted, it wasn't anyone's business!

  
The father glared at one of the women eyeing his child and saw her quickly avert her eyes with a cough.  
Jeralt couldn't help but huff.

  
All bark but no bite, of course.

  
Quickly paying for the clothes, they left the market and returned to their housing for the night.  
Beth seemed to radiate a pleasing aura as she folded her new clothes and neatly placed them in her bag.  
“Happy with what you got?” he asked, messing up his child's hair as he ran a hand through it.  
Beth nodded, whilst the face ever so stoic, the nod he received seemed almost eager.

  
As long as his child was happy, Jeralt was happy.

_16 years old _

Ever since Beth's chest had started to grow years ago, she seemed to be always awkward around shirts and undressing in front of him.  
Which was normal, he would give his child privacy when she would change.  
Once he noticed Beth's slow change to becoming a woman, he had taken her to a shop to get her a fitting corset.

  
It started slow. Her shirts became baggier and baggier over the passing years.  
And just like her dress shirts changed in size over the years, her eyes became more and more lifeless all the same.

  
It was true that his child never showed any emotion. But her eyes.  
Her eyes were so easy to read to him. She most likely didn't even realize how her eyes would get the barest of a twinkle at seeing a cute animal – which he forbade her to pet since once she pets them they get attached to her a swarm her for affection in groups – and the way the slightest twitch would show him that something annoyed her.

  
So, he noticed. The way she looked like someone having no will to live.

  
He concluded that it was finally time to sit her down and have an honest talk with her.  
Sitting down next to his child on his temporary bed, Jeralt cleared his throat.  
“So, kid. I noticed that you... You don't seem really in a good mood lately. Past few weeks actually,” he started, hands sitting on his lap as he looked at his child.  
Beth was looking at her feet, blue eyes clouded and hands clenched into fists on her sides.

  
Silence filled the room.

  
Jeralt knew that pushing would do no good. Beth would start talking when she felt comfortable.  
After a few minutes his kid finally opened her mouth:  
  
“I don't like my chest, papa.”  
  
Her voice sounded nearly meek as her fists slowly settled down on her lap. Her father remained silent; he knew she wasn't finished.

“I don't like the way it looks, I don't like the way it moves when I fight. I hate my hips- I don't like when men look at me because of them.”

  
She took a deep breath.

  
“I hate how I look, Papa.”

  
Jeralt looked at his child, blinking a few times. Face turned away, Beth didn't dare to meet his gaze.  
He took Beth into his arms, feeling the 16-year-old go riged before melting into his embrace.  
“It's okay, kid. We'll find a solution, as always,” he muttered against short teal hair, feeling tears welling up in his eyes.  
His child didn't say anything. He felt the slight nod against his shoulder and he continued to hold his fragile kid, hands rubbing down the back dressed in a baggy shirt.

Jeralt would try to find a way to ease his child's mind, no matter what.

_18 years old_

It was when _Byleth _grew another few years older when realization started to slowly creep into his mind.

  
That _he_ didn't need to be _Beth_.

  
He has been training harder the past two years, trying to get fitter to alter the feminine physique of his body.  
Byleth has found ways to tie his corset to make his chest appear flatter. Before battle, he would use bandages and the like with perhaps stretchy material to bind it around his chest.  
While it wasn't the safest way, it gave him more mobility during fights than the corset.

  
He had picked up these “tricks” on a day in a tavern with his father and the other mercenaries.

  
Men one table away had talked about ways of flattening their chests and it had resonated with him, somehow given him a glimmer of hope so perhaps finally be able to feel for _himself_.  
Immediately after they had finished their meal, he had tried out to tie his corset tight around his chest.  
Looking into the mirror, he had finally seen someone he had been looking for all those years, had been _yearning_ to see on the other side of the glass.

His chest was flat in the dress shirt he had put on. Running a hand over the cloth-covered corset he felt something akin joy run through his heart.

  
Jeralt announced his presence with a knock as he carried bags filled utensils into their room.  
He stopped in his tracks as he felt this strange sense of warmth and happiness that was filling the room.  
His eyes fell onto his now grown-up child, standing in front of the mirror and staring at the reflection in what seemed to be content.

  
“Papa, can you.... call me Byleth?”

  
Jeralt couldn't help but smile.  
To others, those words would've sounded cold and emotionless but the father was able to detect something what seemed to be.... happiness.

  
“Of course, kid.”

  
He felt his child fall against his chest, arms wrapped around his middle and the mop of teal hair tickling his jawline.

  
“Can I be... your son then?” Jeralt heard _his son _say as he wrapped his arms around _him_, pressing _him_ firmly against his body. The bags filled with items dropped down on the floor with no care.  
Kissing the top of child's head, he muttered:

“Of course, _son._”

_21 years old_

The last thing Jeralt expected to see in Remire Village was to meet students of the Garreg Mach Monastery, upcoming leaders no less.  
Of course, they would help these brats.  
Byleth stood behind him clad in dark gray and black, sword already drawn and ready to fight.  
The students seemed to eye his son interest, which was understandable.  
Aside from his stoic and calculating expression, he stood proud and body held with confidence from years of honing his skills.

  
The father felt pride blossom in his heart.

  
The bandits were wiped out fast with the guidance of him. But Byleth had done most of the work, directing and leading these kids through the fight.  
The blond-haired man watched as the students gathered around his son, talking vividly and seeming to admire the way he held himself during combat.  
He watched as the male student in blue seemed to be surrounded by a bright aura as he complimented Byleth, blue eyes eager and honest as he tried to win his son over for his kingdom.

Jeralt couldn't help but chuckle.

Alois was standing beside him, watching the exchange as well.  
“So, him and I,” the brunet started, eyes twinkling with excitement, “ we are kind of like brothers, aren't we!”  
The older man couldn't help but groan as the other started laughing.

  
“For Goddess' sake, Alois...”

_happiness _

The first time Jeralt had seen his son smile was as he was saying his goodbyes before going on a mission different from the others.  
He didn't like to admit it, but he felt himself nearly giving in and letting himself cry as he saw his son look at him with pure glee in his blue eyes and a faintest yet striking smile on his lips.  
Before his son could question the mistiness of his eyes, he had pulled him into his arms and had pressed a kiss on the crown on his head.

The first time Jeralt heard Byleth laugh it had made him stop in his tracks.  
He had been walking around Monastery grounds on his way to report to lady Rhea as a burst of unknown laughter made him stop in his tracks.  
It wasn't the loudest but yet it seemed to be filled with joy and ease.  
The laughter had made Jeralt turn around and there he saw his son, accompanied by a certain blond prince as they stood huddled close to each other and talking in hushed voices.  
The cheeks of the blue student seemed to be adored by a deep blush as he watched the professor laugh at something the other had said with a smile on his faint blue lips.  
Byleth was surrounded by a handful of cats, one resting on his shoulder and another was being held in his black-clad arms.

  
Somehow this was all Jeralt needed to feel accomplished for all those years of raising his child.  
He couldn't fight his smile has it fought it's way onto his lips as his chest was filled with a comfortable warmth.  
  
This time he let a single tear escape.

So this is what true happiness felt like, huh.

_the end _

“**_You've always been my son no matter what you may think.”_**

Tears, never stopping, hit Jeralt's cold skin.

_ **“I love you, son”** _

Not even the sound of crashing thunder was able to hide the pained cries of a son that just lost his father right in front of his eyes.

Twice had he lost him.

The sky wept.

_the beginning_

Years later after the war was won, Byleth stood in front of his parents' grave with his husband by his side.  
Leaning against Dimitri's strong chest, he felt the blond snake his arms around the smaller male's body.  
Byleth felt tears gather in his eyes as he simply watched the picked flowers on the grave dance in the spring breeze.  
Dimitri, despite not being good at any kind of delicate labor and not knowing anything about flowers, had picked a wide range of wildflowers for his parents, which had earned him soft kisses peppering his face.

  
Among those flowers were a couple of odds once.

  
Byleth remembers his father once telling him right where he was standing that his mother adored the odd and unique flowers that he would pick and gift to her.  
During the same conversation, he had told him to gift his mother's ring to the person he loved and held dear.  
The green-haired male felt Dimitri press a kiss on his temple as Byleth placed his hand over the other's ring, intertwining their fingers as they stood in silence.

  
Byleth let his tears run free as his lips were taken over by a happy smile. He felt Dimitri smile against his skin, giving him another soft kiss.

  
They were happy, looking forward to a future together and a time of peace across Fódlan.

  
Byleth was truly happy.

_And that's all Jeralt ever wanted._

**Author's Note:**

> _i know i’m made of clay that’s worn_  
_blinded by imperfect form_  
_but i will trust the artist molding me_  

> 
> ______________________________
> 
> (PLEASE NOTE! **CLOTHES != GENDER**   
this is simply taken from my own experience and ways of dressing.  
everyone's experience is different!!! mine simply stems from an overbearing mother that forced me into being super girly so my dysphoria acts up the moment i put on anything feminine!!)
> 
> i started writing this the moment half alive's debut album dropped and their song creature guided me through over half of this fanfic since it's basically byleth's song????  
so have another super super self-indulged piece with a lot of personal experience written into :)
> 
> my [tumblr](https://feeniecchi.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/Feeniecchi)!! :))
> 
>   
i wish jeralt was my dad.  

> 
>   
sincerely, someone with a shitty dad/parents  



End file.
